


Refuge

by ideserveyou



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Angst, Fluff, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-23
Updated: 2011-07-23
Packaged: 2017-10-21 16:34:16
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/227289
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/ideserveyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Young Kai needs a safe place to hide</p>
            </blockquote>





	Refuge

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to trepkos for beta. I'm still not sure what this is about, but it was a sweet little image...

‘Here we are,’ I say, dismounting and going to stand by the black pony’s head to hold the reins as my elder son clambers down.

He’s still a little unsure on horseback, and it’s going to be some while yet before he can truly compete with his brother and the other boys; but he’s approached his riding lessons with the same steady determination as he’s faced the other challenges of his new life. It’s just a matter of time.

He takes my hand, as he sometimes likes to do when we are alone, and lets me lead him down the slope.

I pull aside the curtain of ivy and brambles, and his eyes widen.  
‘What is this place?’  
‘Come and see,’ I say, and together we clamber into the narrow cave beside the river. The dried leaves rustle under our feet; spiders scamper into crevices.

So many memories. The place still even smells the same.

‘This was my secret hiding place when I was a boy,’ I tell him. ‘Nobody else in the village knows about it. It was where I came when I needed to be alone. When I’d… had a fight with my brother, for example.’

I am careful not to look at him. There were still tears in his eyes when I lifted him into the saddle.

‘Or when the other boys made fun of you,’ he whispers.

‘That, too,’ I say. ‘This was my refuge.’

‘What’s a refuge?’

I forget: there are still some words in our tongue that he does not know.

‘A refuge is a safe place,’ I say, ruffling his hair. ‘Where none of your enemies can get in to hurt you, and you can rest quiet for a while until you’re ready to come out and face them all again.’

He is silent for a little while, staring at the glimpses of blue sky through the branches.  
‘You’re my refuge,’ he says.

I chuckle. ‘I try to be, Kai. But sometimes I’ll have to be away – to fight, or to trade, or to visit the other chieftains in their villages. This refuge will be here for you, even when I’m not.’

We scramble up and out into the brightness of the spring afternoon.

He holds out his right hand, formally and gravely, and I clasp it with equal seriousness.

‘Thank you, father Llud,’ he says, stumbling a little over the words.

I am smiling as we ride home.

It always cheers me, when he calls me that.

When we get home, a chastened Arthur is waiting for us by the longhouse door.

Kai goes to walk straight past him, but Arthur stands in his path; holds out a hand.

‘I’m sorry, Kai,’ he says. And this time he sounds as though he means it.

Kai looks at the floor.

‘Well, Kai?’ I say. ‘Aren’t you going to accept your brother’s apology?’

I wouldn’t blame him if he didn’t. I’ve never been so angry with my Celtic foster-son. I don’t even know what they were fighting about, and by the time I found them, they didn’t know themselves any more. But from what I could gather, Kai had been hiding under the bed, after yet another run-in with the village boys; Arthur had tracked him to his haven and hauled him out of it, and then laid into him on his own account.

The fact that he’d attacked with insults, not blows, only made his assault all the more accurate and painful. Kai may be bigger, but he’s no match for Arthur when words are the weapons.

Arthur, I know, has troubles of his own; his mother – may she rest in peace – is but lately gone from us. But even so…

Kai looks up again, into Arthur’s eyes, as though judging the truth of his words.  
Then slowly he reaches out to take the proffered hand.

‘I’m sorry too,’ he says. ‘I don’t want to fight with you. You’re my brother.’

I haven’t seen Arthur smile like that all winter.

From then on, the fights between the two of them grow less frequent and less ferocious, and gradually Kai’s skill and confidence improve, with horses and weaponry as well as with words. My adopted sons form an alliance; the two of them together are usually more than a match for the other boys.

And if Kai still disappears from time to time, coming back with reddened eyes, Arthur asks no questions.

Then a party from Cornwall comes to visit for the Midsummer celebrations. Among them is Arthur’s cousin Mark – a little older than Kai, and already well-muscled and big for his age.

He and Arthur fought each other the last time they met, and it seems they have not forgotten it; they glare at each other when they are forced to shake hands. Very soon they are needling each other, and then they come to blows.

Again and again I separate them; tell Arthur to keep his temper, as befits our future leader; say, to the frowning Kai, that he should stay out of this.

‘They are cousins,’ I tell him. ‘It’s a family matter.’  
Kai lifts his chin and glares at me. ‘I am family. Arthur is my brother.’

It is like trying to prevent a thunderstorm by talking to the massing clouds, and I’m not there when the storm finally breaks. There is a rumour of Saxon scouts in the next valley, and I ride out to investigate. It takes me all sweltering morning to establish that the rumour was exactly that, and that the so-called Saxons were nothing more than a couple of pale-coloured stray cattle.

I am not at my happiest when I come back, and then I come in late to the midday meal to find Mark nursing a black eye and a savage temper, Kai with a split lip he can’t or won’t explain, and Arthur unmarked, but pale and silent. His lips are pressed into a tight line; he’s barely eating anything, and Kai is sitting pressed close against his side on the bench, looking worried.

I am distracted by a question from the Cornish leader, and when I turn back, both my sons have quietly disappeared.

Mark’s father appears unconcerned. ‘Boys will be boys,’ he says, grinning at Mark. ‘Let ‘em fight it out – or run away if they can’t handle it.’  
Mark basks in his father’s approval, and I know better than to make an issue of it. We need our treaties with Cornwall, and the Midsummer feast is not a time for politics. But if that big lout were mine, I’d leather him good and proper.

I resolve that one day I will do just that…

Arthur and Kai do not return to the longhouse, and nobody in the village has seen them. When dusk falls, and there is still no sign of them, I excuse myself from the gathering and ride out to search. Their horses are still in the stable, but their trail is not hard to follow, and anyway I know where they have gone.

I dismount some way away and hitch my reins to a tree, then creep closer on foot. The ripple of the river will hide any sounds of my approach.

I lean forward and silently draw back the sprays of bramble and ivy.

There they are, curled up together on the dry leaves, fast asleep; Arthur’s dark head pillowed on Kai’s shoulder, and Kai with an arm curved protectively around his brother. Both young faces bear the tracks of recent tears. But both are now serene and peaceful.

I smile, and leave them in their refuge.


End file.
